


My Mama Would Be So Ashamed

by amusewithaview



Series: Farcy: a love story [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Crack, Discussion of Abortion, EVEN THE BRAIN-MELTY ONES, F/M, Gratuitous Star Trek References, Las Vegas, Pre-Canon, SHIP DARCY WITH ALL THE THINGS, Things Happen In Vegas, This is what happens when I try to write crack, Vegas Wedding, fun with portmanteau couple-names, i don't even, the morning after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 03:07:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amusewithaview/pseuds/amusewithaview
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy sat up slowly, grabbing the sheet that lay pooled at her waist, tugging it up and tucking it into her armpits before she turned to look at Mystery Guy.  <i>Oh god,</i> she thought hysterically, <i>I'm Mrs. Mystery Guy.  Fuck you, Carrie Underwood and your fucking prophetic lyrics!  I don't know his last name!  I don't know <b>my</b> last name!</i></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>In which I attempt crack, but apparently I suck at that, so it's sort of serious, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Mama Would Be So Ashamed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [100demons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/100demons/gifts).



> WARNING: for discussion of abortion, plan B (there's a difference between the two), and giving a character a stance on the related issue.
> 
> Also, seriously. This was supposed to be light crack while I finished pounding out the details of "5 Ways Tony Stark Didn't Build a Better Condom (and when he did)" for plathgirl. I WAS INSPIRED BY THE CREDO AND COULD NOT HELP MYSELF, OKAY?!
> 
> Also also, my WIPs are still IP, I swear.

Darcy was the first one to wake up. Her body hurt, but she wasn't hungover. She'd learned how to carb-load to prepare for a night of drinking halfway through her first year of college, plus, yaknow, awesome genetics. The pain she was feeling was indicative of a good time, a good _horizontal_ time (though her dim memories let her piece together that some of the fun had been vertical, and diagonal, and... not the time, Darcy). She was aware of sheets far softer than the ones she was used to (hotel?), then of an arm wrapped quite firmly around her waist (so, Mystery Guy hadn't Thank You, Ma'am-ed her yet), and finally – when she opened her eyes – the ring sitting innocently on her finger (No. Nonononononono _no_ ).

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” she breathed out in absolute horror.

There was a stirring of air against the back of her neck, and then she felt the arm on her waist tense. She went very, very still, hyper-aware of the body lying behind her. The arm slowly retreated, and somehow she felt Mystery Guy get even _more_ tense. He'd probably noticed the ring. Darcy _hoped_ he'd noticed the ring, she wasn't sure how to break the news to him, otherwise. She tried to keep her breathing even because _goddamn_ , she had _no idea_ what to say.

The silence continued for an excruciating five minutes (she was counting the seconds).

“What. The fuck,” Mystery Guy finally said, his voice rough with liquor – or maybe just disbelief.

Darcy sat up slowly, grabbing the sheet that lay pooled at her waist, tugging it up and tucking it into her armpits before she turned to look at Mystery Guy. _Oh god,_ she thought hysterically, _I'm Mrs. Mystery Guy. Fuck you, Carrie Underwood and your fucking prophetic lyrics! I don't know his last name! I don't know **my** last name!_

“Fury.”

“I'm feeling more terror and shock right now, thanks.”

He gave her a capital L _look_ , “My name. It's Nicholas Fury.”

She stared at him, ignoring the fact that her inner monologue had apparently devolved into an outer one at some point in her mini head-rant. He was...older. Definitely older. Like, _could be her dad_ older. But he wasn't _paunchy_ old. He was actually... _hot_. In a very dangerous-looking sort of way. His eye was intense enough that she spared a moment to be kinda awkwardly thankful that he only had _one_ because ho-lee-shit that was a _fierce_ mien.

“Darcy Lewis,” she said finally. “Is me. Or, well, maybe Darcy Fury right now?”

He took a deep breath, holding up his own left hand and squinting at it a little before sighing heavily, “Looks like.” He shot her another one of those _looks_ , but this one was assessing. More a measuring assessing than a checking-you-out assessing. “I hate to ask, but how old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

Nicholas (she could call him by her first name in her head, right? They were _married_ after all) sighed in relief.

“Just turned,” she added. “Yesterday.”

He winced, almost flinched, actually.

“Also,” she continued, wanting to get all of the bad news out of the way fast, “I'mprettysurewedidn'tusecondoms.”

He just stared at her. “You're not on any contraceptives.”

“...if that had been a question, the answer would have been 'no'.”

Nicholas (he did not look like a Nick, Darcy was not feeling 'Nick' vibes) pressed his palms to his face and began to curse, quietly and thoroughly, in a litany that encompassed at least six languages. Darcy was quietly impressed, and a little turned on, but mostly still terrified because _holy fucking married_.

“So... _I_ was celebrating reaching my majority, why were _you_ black-out, make-bad-decisions, get-married-at-an-Elvis-chapel drunk?” She was starting to get a sort of numb, almost floaty-feeling, really. Then she realized that, being as an annulment was probably out of the question (she was getting little memory-flashes of sex, _lots of it_ , Nicholas was _creative_ ), she would probably have to tell her mother about this at some point (not the sex, though her mother would _totally ask_ , but the marriage).

Numbness gone, terror back.

“We got married at an Elvis chapel?” he asked resignedly, dodging her question.

Darcy turned towards the end table next to the bed, rummaging through the debris on top (her shirt – ripped, a Bible, and a few pamphlets for food service) looking for some paperwork, “I don't actually remember, but the certificate should tell us. Assuming there _is_ one. Hey! Maybe we didn't really get married! Maybe this is just a prank your friends are playing!”

“They wouldn't dare,” he said, with such quiet and overwhelming certainty that Darcy upgraded him from merely _scary_ to outright _terrifying_ (thank god he wasn't pissed at _her_ , because _meep_ ). “Your friends?”

“Were probably at least as drunk as we were, and couldn't coordinate something this crazy and cruel even when judge-sober.” She continued rooting through the drawer as she spoke and gave a little cry of excitement when she found the paper. “Got it! We were married at 3:47A.M. in the Boldly Going Chapel... which is apparently Star Trek themed.” She shot him a side-long glance, “Favorite captain?”

He seemed reluctantly amused, “Picard.”

“Bald is beautiful,” she agreed, “but I always liked Space!Jesus, myself.”

He smiled, just a little, it was more a quirk of the lips than anything else.

_Okay, drunk-me, I can see why you slept with him, but why the fuck did you MARRY HIM?!_

“Where are you from?” he asked abruptly.

“Wisconsin, but I go to Culver University, in Virginia.”

Nicholas's gaze turned somehow sharper. “Major?”

“Poli-sci, I'm a sophomore. Took a gap year. I'm also an Aquarius, allergic to shellfish, and voted for Nader in the last election.” She blew out a breath, “Look, we were really, _really_ drunk. I don't have any religious or moral feelings against divorce, do you?”

He shook his head 'no', then gave her lower abdomen a pointed look.

She reflexively looked where he was looking, and winced. “Yeah, okay. I might have personal issues with that one.”

“Personal, not political?”

“ _Fuck_ the political, my body is mine and nobody gets a say-so but me!” she said fiercely.

Nicholas nodded slowly, “Your thoughts being?”

“I... don't... I mean,” she paused, “I am grabbing a plan B a-s-a-freaking-p, but if it doesn't work...”

“We move to an actual Plan B, and...”

“Fuck if I know. Where do you work?”

“All over.”

“What do you do?”

“Most of it is classified.”

“You work for the government?!” her eyes nearly bugged out of her skull. Her mother, her anti-establishment, aged-hippie, woman-power, legalize-marijuana, _Dharma-and-freaking-Greg stereotype_ mother would Not Approve. In a really big way. “Well,” she sighed, “it was already a given that this was a complete clusterfuck. That's just a cherry.” At his questioning look, she mustered a smile, “Hypothetically, if you were worried about my folks being po'ed at you for the age-difference, you can now be happy knowing that they'll hate you for being a government stooge.”

“And yet you're a polisci major.”

“Well, you know what they say: sometimes the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, and sometimes the apple tree produces an orange.”

“...they don't say that,” aaaaand he was reluctantly amused again, she could tell by the slight deepening at the corner of his mouth. _Stop looking at his mouth, Darcy!_

“Maybe they should. So. Um...”

“I need to find my people, you need to contact your friends.” He paused, “I...would prefer it if you came with me. We can stop by a pharmacy on the way to the base, but it's up to you.”

“Plan B, then base? Okay, but if I disappear, there _are_ people who would look for me.”

“Duly noted.”

And then he got out of the bed and walked to the bathroom, nude.

_Yeah, okay, **totally** get why I slept with him._

**Author's Note:**

> References explained:  
> 1\. The "Boldly Going" Chapel is my own creation. Picard and Sisko are two captains from the Star Trek universe.  
> 2\. Culver University is a fictional universe in the Marvel Universe where All the Epic Shit Goes Down. No, really. Important to _this_ story is the fact that it's where Bruce Banner went and where he became the Hulk - though that happened a few years prior to Darcy attending. Also, her attendance there is canonical. No, _really_.  
>  3\. Gap year: a British thing, I think. Basically, a year taken off between HS and College.
> 
> A few more notes:  
> This happens pre-Thor.
> 
> Yes, he gave her the taser.
> 
> Look guys, my head is a scary place to be, okay?!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [That's What You Get](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5236415) by [kiwigirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwigirl/pseuds/kiwigirl)




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